The boy who never was
by Laziness Incarnate
Summary: Shindou Hikaru is the most (un)real person Akira (n)ever met.
1. Chapter 1

**The Boy Who Never Was**

 **Chapter 1**

You don't know what it is that's missing. There's no yawning emptiness in you, nothing obviously wrong with your life. You're just a kid after all. You're happy. Your parents are loving and generous, attentive but not smothering. Your mother is beautiful. Your father is Meijin. He teaches you go.

Right now you're sitting in your father's go salon. You're in the back by the fish tanks, reviewing kifu by yourself. Ichikawa is watching the front. No one is asking you for a teaching game because you look busy.

…Everyone is so nice to you.

You don't want to scream exactly. You don't know what it is you want. You don't even know _that_ you want.

You don't know until he walks through the door, asks for your age, and asks for a game.

* * *

"Akira," your mother says, over dinner. "I heard from Ichikawa-san that you became a bit…upset today?"

You hear the upward tilt of her voice and wonder what it is she's really asking.

"There was a boy who came in," you tell her. "He was the same age as me." You pick up your bowl of rice, cupping your hand around it carefully. It's weighty, like a full go-ke at the beginning of a game. "He told me he wanted to play, and…"

 _He didn't know who I was. He didn't know, but he wanted to play me anyway._

"…he was very good."

Your mother has a tiny crease between her slender brows. Just a tiny crease. Almost imperceptible. You know it's there because you've noticed it before—it's how she looks when she's deeply worried inside. Just a little worried outside. You never know what to do when she looks at you like that.

You eat some rice. It's good rice.

"So. A boy randomly came in," she says eventually. "Someone the same age as you, strong enough to ask for an even game."

"With the komi, I won," you reply. You don't mention that the boy played shidougo against you. You don't want to show how upset you are.

"Akira," she says. "You're in sixth grade now, almost in middle school."

You don't know why she suddenly bringing this up, but you nod to show you're listening.

"Don't you think you're too old for…" the crease between her brows darkens, "…for _these_ kinds of games?"

Your blood runs cold.

"I'm not sure what you mean." You keep your voice level, but inside, inside of you... "I know some of Father's friends think I should take the pro exam already, and I respect their opinion, truly I do, but I thought you were okay with me waiting a year…"

You trail off because your mother is staring at you. Have you upset her that much? You look down at your pickled cucumbers, mortified.

"That's not what I was talking about," she says, "though I agree it's better to wait before you go pro."

"Then what…"

"Ichikawa told me," she begins, "she told me that this 'boy' you say you played today…"

"What about him?"

"Well, he wasn't…Akira, I know you wish you had a rival your age, but don't you think you should find some real friends?"

There's a strange timbre to her voice. You can't see her face right now (you're still staring at your food) but you can imagine the crumple between her eyebrows is still there. You don't understand why it's there. Why is she suddenly taking such an interest in your life? Usually she doesn't care about go.

"Oh, Akira," she says after some time, and silence. "I understand. Tell me," her voice goes artificially bright, "how did it feel playing that boy today?"

* * *

Later, as you lie in bed, you decide you didn't lie to your mother. It's not like you could have explained the boy to her anyway. The way he held the stones like a meagre child. The way he played like a wizened master. The condescension he showed you from the moment he walked in.

His name, he told you, was Shindou Hikaru.

It's all you have to hold to, this slender wisp of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It takes some running, but you find him again.

There's a children's tournament today at the Go Institute today, you hear. Shindou is there—you don't know how you know, but maybe someone gave you the info at your father's go salon. You have to hurry to catch him, you hear the voice say…

You don't run very often. You're completely out of breath by the time you find him. You probably look a bit wild, covered in sweat and hair all dishevelled, yelling at this clueless boy in a hoarse, almost feverish voice.

You don't care.

"Play me again," you demand. "Not shidougo this time!"

* * *

"Akira-kun?"

Ichikawa's hand falls on your shoulder. "Akira-kun, are you okay?"

You raise your head. You've been glad for the way your hair forms a protective curtain around your lowered eyes—that way no one can see how red they are. You shouldn't have taken Shindou to your father's go salon again—too many people know you here.

But it must be near closing time now. Ichikawa wants you out of the chair. You stand.

"Anything you want to talk about?" she says, hand falling from your shoulder. "Did something happen?"

 _Shindou Hikaru happened_ , you refuse to say. To speak would make it true. What you just experienced…it couldn't have been real. A boy like that, clumsy young fingers like that…they couldn't have played the hands they played. The way they cut into you, like a blade piercing your formation. Cutting your trust in yourself, your go, your father's go.

Shindou Hikaru—what was he?

"Akira-kun?"

You look up and see Ichikawa's frown. Right, she needs to close the building. "Sorry to be a bother. I'll go now." You put on your best smile.

"No, no, it's not trouble at all!" she says as you expect. "I'm just wondering if you're being…you know, bullied or anything at school…"

Your smile turns into a different one. "Oh no, it's nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

You know that she won't close the salon until she has an answer. So you tell her, "It's nothing, just…that game."

"What game?"

It seems inconceivable that she doesn't know what you're talking about. But of course she doesn't—she was in the front, watching the till and taking care of customers, and you took Shindou to the back, hid him away…

"The game I played just now."

You gesture at the board, the black pieces still arrayed against you. Still cutting into your heart. You stare, eyes drawn down to your defeat.

"Oh," says Ichikawa. "But, Akira-kun…" she bites her lip. "I thought your mom was going to talk to you about this."

You're not sure what she's talking about, but you nod. You're finding it hard to pay much attention to her. You're replaying the last fifteen moves in your mind, over and over…

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong? I know you're under a lot of pressure."

You turn away, plucking your jacket from the back of your chair. "I should probably let you close up. Thank you, Ichikawa-san."

You give her your best smile again, the one you know she likes. And then you leave for home—where Shindou Hikaru's clumsy, devastating hands will still haunt you, ghostlike.

* * *

"You've been out and about a lot recently," your father observes.

You do not look up. The board has most of your attention. You consider your father's last move. A kosumi where you were expecting a hane. Why?

"Your mother mentioned you've been taking the train a lot."

You nod absently. "I'm sorry. I spent more money than usual this month." Reading deeper into the shape on the goban, you see your father's intent: the kosumi will give him better board position later in the centre, where the final battle will be decided. You decide to play aggressively to cut off that future path. "If the money is a problem," you say aloud, "I'll try to use my transit card less."

"It's not an issue." Your father is perturbed. You can tell from his intonation. Was your move so strange? "I only wondered where you've been going."

You place your next stone, a dodging move.

"I've been observing different schools," you explain. You do not mention that one of those schools was Shindou Hikaru's school, Haze Elementary, and the other hosted a tournament he took part in. "I want to make the right choice for junior high."

"You came home quite late today. Were you visiting a school?"

Your father places a pincer movement. You respond elsewhere, forcing an atari.

"Yes, but that school is too inconvenient," you say. "Our house is not so far away, but it's too far from the go salon and the Institute." You are talking about Haze Junior High, which you have never once considered attending. You would never attend a school with such…distractions. "I decided on Kaio," you tell your father.

He gives an approving nod and his shoulders seem to relax. You see it from the corner of your eye. "I am glad that you show such independence."

"Kaio seems like a good school."

His next move—a large keima—surprises you again. "They do have nice uniforms," he says as his stone leaps boldly into the centre.

You cover your mouth with one hand, unable to help the tiny smile bubbling forth.

The game unfolds with a vivid grace, as all games with your father do. The door to the veranda is open; outside, the bamboo water spout rises and falls at intervals, _clack clack clack,_ a familiar punctuation to the warm _pachi pachi pachi_ of the stones. It is as close to contentment as you can get. It's the person you were before Shindou barged into your life.

Then Ogata comes in and the spell is broken.

* * *

"Your go is different today, Akira," Ogata says as smoke clouds his features.

"I noticed it too," says your father, "but I chose not to bring it up in the middle of a game."

If Ogata notices the rebuke, he does not make sign of it.

"I guess I can't say much about your go when I haven't seen you lately. Not since that children's tournament, I believe?"

Ogata blows more smoke. You're used to it, but you turn your face aside anyways. There's grey ash in the air, red cinder flakes drifting into your hair. Slow and awful, the smoke thickens and grows.

"You were at a children's tournament?" Your eyes are averted, but you can hear the frown in your father's voice. "Akira, didn't I tell you not to enter any of those?"

A worming, itchy feeling crawls up from your stomach into your chest.

"He didn't play," Ogata says smugly. "He only came to watch. He got a bit too excited, the way kids do—your son here blurted out some advice for a boy in the middle of a game, which rendered the whole thing moot and landed him in a pot of hot water with the organizers."

"Akira did that?" Your father turns his eyes on you, the brown irises clouded white with smoke. The worm wraps tighter around your heart; Ogata should not be saying these things.

"It wasn't me," you say in a voice unlike your own. "It was another boy."

Ogata's voice is also unlike his own: it is taken aback, bewildered. "Another boy? What are you talking about? I was right there. It was you."

"No, it wasn't. It was the boy with the dyed hair."

"I didn't see anyone like that."

"But he was there. At the children's tournament."

"What are you talking about?"

"Akira?" says your father.

Later, you will regret your words. But in the face of Ogata's confusion, your father's worry, the remembered crease between your mother's brows, the memory of that game that cut your go in two (you are in atari, a pincer attack from all sides, you must respond or your stones will die), your mouth opens without your consent and it's as if the worm has crawled all the way up your throat. You blurt out—

"Shindou Hikaru. It was all Shindou's fault, not mine!"

—and like a broken spell, like a solved tsumego, the game unravels.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

You are you. You know that well enough. You have always been who you are.

In you are many pieces: your father's teaching and your mother's care; Ichikawa's mothering and Ashiwara's big brothering; kifu and shidougo and Ogata's assessing stares. No one knows the pieces of yourself better than you, for you are your own creation. Or so you thought.

You never thought there was a piece of you missing. Not until—

"Shindou Hikaru," you say, "is real. I've seen him. I played him."

"Right." Ogata's derision is less sharp that usual. He's not used to aiming his barbs at _you_. "He's about as real as that nonsense you keep spouting about the children's tournament."

"I'm telling the truth. He was there." Your own voice wavers too. Why would Ogata do this? "He got in big trouble because he spoke during someone else's game."

"It was _you_ who caused that fiasco. Call the Institute in the morning and ask them." Ogata sounds so sure of yourself, but he's not making any sense. He must be lying. Right? The wrongness of it all makes your breath come short and quick, hitching in your throat like a panic attack.

"I'm not lying," you rasp.

Hands fiddling in his pocket for a cigarette, Ogata doesn't even look at you. "Well? What are we doing to do about this?"

He's talking to your father. You turn to look at the man who raised you, always with such kindness and wisdom, and hardly recognize him. The look on his face…

Your father says: "You've kept this from me."

He's not speaking to you, or even Ogata. He's speaking to your mother. You've never heard your father sound so angry before. Not like this—this hot fury, neither strategy nor play behind it.

"I thought it was just a game," she says. Her worry is not just a slender crease between her brows now. You can see the lines around her mouth, the moisture in her dark eyes spilling over; mascara smudges on her lashes. "I thought it wasn't real to him, just make-believe. Harumi thought so too. An imaginary friend to play games against."

Ogata's cigarette quivers between his fingers as he inhales. You watch the tip flare hot then turn cold and gray again. "Go is a game. _This_ is something a lot less fun."

Your mother turns on him, eyes flaring red around the edges, redder than his cigarette. "This _is_ about go and you know it. It's all those people telling him to turn pro—that pressure on him, it's too much for a boy his age."

"A boy his age," Ogata snorts, "is too old for this kind of shit."

She sucks in a breath. Then she lets it out along with some choice words you've never heard her use before. Ogata responds in kind. Your father stands by, silently helpless.

You feel a strange sensation as you watch them argue. A weightlessness. Detachment, as if you exist outside your own body. Whoever the real you is, he is hovering above your shoulder, watching and whispering the right moves to play: an incorporeal piece of yourself that's been missing until now, though you never knew it. Not until Shindou came along.

"I can't believe you didn't say anything."

"Why is this any of your business?"

"I care for him too!"

 _Stop talking about me like I'm not here._ But you can't seem to speak. It's like Shindou has crawled into you, found all those empty spaces and taken them over…

"We need to take him to a doctor," someone says. It's your father. His voice shakes—you've never heard it shake before. "In the morning, first thing."

Your mother looks to him, away from Ogata. Something in her falls apart; her whole body seems to sway; she falls into your father, who embraces her. This is another thing you've never seen before—your parents hugging. They must be in great pain.

It makes you a little angry to think that Shindou has done this to your family.

"So you admit he's nuts."

"Stop," your father says to Ogata, sounding as tired as you feel. "This isn't helping. It might be making things worse."

His eyes meet yours, and you wonder what he sees. You avert your eyes. After a moment he turns away, more weary than ever. "Ogata, perhaps you should go home."

Ogata stiffens. The fingers gripping the remains of his cigarette go completely still. "Sure. But make sure you actually go to the doctor. Don't brush this aside." He looks at your mother. "He's not well."

Then he bows slightly, excuses himself, politely takes his leave as he usually does.

When he is gone, your mother eyes your father instead. They're still not looking at you. "How is a regular doctor going to help? You know it's about go." Her voice is soft, steely. "Deny it all you want, but you know he's been hurt by it. He has no friends his own age."

Your father's face does not fall. Yet even before he speaks, you know how much her words have hurt him. The pain in your chest doubles.

 _Shindou_ , you say inside your head. _This is all your fault._

From the garden you hear the sound of the water spout hitting rock, _thock_. Then the long, slow descent of water into the pond, _shhhhh_. The flow of time is somehow mortifying.

"I think," your father says finally, the voice a man uses when he resigns a game, "that I would like to speak to Akira alone."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Akira," says your father, "sit with me at the goban."

The game you made together still litters the surface of the board. Ogata was right; it was not your usual go. It doesn't look at all like your father's go either. You look down and see the spectre of Shindou's hands: ripples in the pond, circles spreading wider and wilder in the water…

Years later you will look back and understand that this was a moment of terrible change, a bridge you crossed blindly as it crumbled behind you. Before this, your father's go was the only goal you could see. Before this, there was never a problem your father could not solve. But now here it is: a tsumego with no path to life.

The shock of this realization makes you blink rapidly, clearing your head. The strange fog around your thoughts lifts for a moment. Your father needs to understand why this has happened, you decide.

"I know," you say, voice thick, as you take your place on the south side of the goban, "I know you think Shindou isn't real."

The name gives your father pause. He frowns, deepening the heavy lines in his face. He waits for you to speak.

"You think I'm going crazy," you say, "that I'm hallucinating because I have no friends my age."

Your father still does not move or speak.

"Do I seem that lonely?" you say. "So lonely I've gone crazy?"

The hands curled against his knees clutch a little tighter, for all that they hold onto nothing. "How can you explain what Ogata and Ichikawa told us?" he says.

"I can't." You suppress a shudder. "I don't know who Shindou is. Until now I didn't know no one else could see him. I'm trying to understand how this could possibly—"

The pity in your father's face angers you.

"…except I can't figure it out." With a sudden, almost vicious sweep of your hand, you brush the stones of the board and they fly onto the tatami. In a mad rush you pick up a black stone and place it onto the left star point, four-four; the old jouseki of Shuusaku comes natural on this floor woven of river reeds. "The game I'm showing you," you say in a voice that grows stronger and more sure as you lay down the stones in sequence, "is not a game I could have created on my own."

You keep laying stones. After the twenty-eighth move the pity melts off your father's face, to be replaced by wonder. It's strangely satisfying. "Who is playing black?" he asks.

You almost laugh. "Shindou," you say. "Shindou Hikaru, in sixth grade like me."

You replay more of Shindou's hands. Ancient, impossible hands. Your father studies the board with careful eyes. His fingers hover over the stones, searching for the phantom who laid down these moves. His wrinkled hands are so different from Shindou's small, childish hands. But the strength, the wisdom in them...

"This is not the go of a child." He looks up "not even a child like you."

Now you do laugh. It's an awkward, despairing sound. "I know. I know! Shindou wasn't…he didn't even know how to nigiri. I had to teach him."

"If this...Shindou is not real," your father murmurs, "where did this game come from? You could not have conceived of these hands on your own. I don't know of anyone who could. But this person playing white is definitely you."

You lean your head down and act as if you are studying the board intently. But really you just want your hair to cover your eyes; they are squeezed shut with frustration. Blindly, you grasp a stone between your thumb and forefinger, like you did when you were a toddler, and show it to your father. "He held the stones like this."

A few pieces still lie scattered around the board, black and white points like stars on the tatami. Neither of you moves to clean it up. This image will stay with you for a long long time: your father kneeling in seiza among the fallen stones, dark eyes full of bewilderment but also a wild sort of… joy. He has never looked like that playing you. He has never looked at anyone like that. Not that you remember. He looks…young.

Then he stands. "Thank you, Akira," he speaks almost reverently. "I will speak with your mother now. Thank you for your honesty."

You nod. You stand too. "I guess… I'll get ready for bed."

"Yes, that would be fine."

His voice is already going distant. It unnerves you a little, sending strange reverberations through your bones—but it is too late to uncross the bridge now.

You walk behind father through the sliding door into the hallway. Your feet seem to float, soundless as air, or a whisper on the autumn wind. _Tok_ cries the water spout in the garden. _Sshhhhssss_ your socks slide on the wooden floor.

You part from your father at the crossroads between the kitchen and the stairway above. He goes into the kitchen to see your mother; you wordlessly ascend.

On the second stair from the top, you hear your mother's voice rise in agitation. You float above it somehow, despite the great weight in your stomach.

Absently you wonder if your mother remembered to draw the bath tonight for all of you. You think she has probably forgotten. You suppose you'll have to do it yourself. Maybe you'll clean the floor of the tub a bit too, as she usually does. But first you have to get your clothes and bathing things.

As you approach your room you shiver. Why is it so chilly? A hot bath will do you good. You are very tired…

You turn the knob of your bedroom door. It opens with a long, heavy creak and your hand comes off the doorknob, completely slack. You stand stock still, unable to comprehend what you're seeing.

Sprawled out on your bedroom floor, wearing a sheepish grin, is Shindou Hikaru.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I got in through the window," Shindou says, legs stretched out in front of him on the carpet, one hand rubbing behind his head. "Sorry to barge in late at night like this."

The lamplight shines dully against his skin; _through_ his skin.

"Stop pretending," you whisper. "Stop acting like you're…"

His hand falls from the back of his head. His eyes fall too. "What you talking about?"

"You don't know, do you?" There's a sick ache growing in your chest; you imagine that this is what cancer feels like as it grows. "You're… You think you're a normal person. That's why you go to school, and…that's why you can play go like it's nothing." _You're not part of this world, but you think you are._

"Hey!" Shindou clambers to his feet, limbs akimbo. "Just because I haven't been playing go all my life like you doesn't mean I'm nothing."

As he moves, the lamp beside him flickers; its light grows gray and cold and wan.

"But you _are_ nothing," you rasp. "Somehow even though you're real, you're also nothing."

Shindou's expression goes a little ugly. His small hands ball into fists at his sides. "Play me right now," he demands. "I'll play you—with my go, not someone else's, and you'll see how real I am."

Someone else's go? You don't know what he means. But you can't think on it long—Shindou has dropped onto the floor again, and in front of him is a goban you are sure wasn't there before.

His eyes bore into you, expectant. The cold is in your lungs now, worse than Ogata's cigarette smoke. Shuddering, you sink to the floor in front of the goban. Your legs, your whole body feels strangely weak. You're so, so cold; you never did get into that hot bath. And your head is light, like there's not enough oxygen getting to it. Must be because of the late hour.

"Nigiri," says Shindou.

* * *

Shindou's jouseki is strange. Even this early in the game you can tell. There is no hint of Shuusaku here, nor any sensible pattern at all. It's like playing a beginner.

"Ummm," Shindou mumbles. "I think I'll play…here?"

And yet the pressure bearing down on you is…it's not like when you played him before. Those games felt like a sword cutting you at the neck. Clean and swift. This is different. The air is thick and strange. Your blood is sluggish in your veins.

"Okay, I'm done. Touya? Your turn."

As you place your next stone, you watch his eyes, the way they are fixed so intently on the board. Before, he played well but without any sense of caring or comprehension. Now he plays with the concentration of an adult and the foolishness of a child. You don't know what to make of it. Underneath your bewilderment your blood begins to boil. The anger staves off the cold a little. Is he mocking you? You want to yell, slam your hands on the floor and demand he play seriously. It's on the tip of your tongue. You look up, and you see Shindou…flicker at the edges. It's like a shot of liquid fear in your veins. You remember the goban that came from nowhere.

"That's enough," you say with as much strength as you can muster. "Shindou you have to see that this is…you're not _alive_."

"No," Shindou says. The look of concentration on his face does not waver, and his body snaps to solidity again. "You have to play me, Touya. You have to see it. _My_ go."

You close your eyes, gasping silently; his words have hit you like a physical force. A spell maybe. You can feel it battering against your will. In your chest the cold blooms like a dying flower. In your hands the stones are too heavy to move. And in your mind there is a dark plane, an endless expanse of emptiness: a universe empty of stars.

Your hands brace against the floor as you try to breathe. This is not a sword cutting clean and pure. This is a slow closing blackness. A child-god reaches out in the dark and you are a fly trapped between its chubby fingers.

Your eyes slit open in defiance. Distantly you see the child-god seize a prize. He surrounds one of your stones and gives a gleeful chuckle. "Hah, I'm going to capture this one! You see that?"

You play a stone, somewhere, and let your eyes close again. Everything feels so solid, real. Everything except you. You're so sleepy…so cold…

* * *

Your eyes snap open. Shindou is muttering to himself; that's what woke you. "Yeah, yeah, stop your whining. It's my turn to play today, all right?" You see the brightness in his eyes as he glances at something to his left. "I'm just learning, what do you expect? Geez."

He places a stone on the board: another terrible, terrible hand.

 _What is happening?_ you want to ask him. _Who are you speaking to?_ But you can barely make your lips open. "Help," you rasp.

"I know I'm not as strong as you," Shindou continues to mutter, "but I want to get better. The only way that's going to happen is if I keep playing my own games. Lots and lots of games." He pauses. "For a thousand years, like you."

You feel so, so weak. You can't play; the stone in your right hand slips from your limp fingers and skitters across the board. Shindou doesn't seem to notice.

"I want to play lots of games with Touya," he says in a low voice. You wonder how he can speak in that way, with so much passion in his voice, when he is speaking to the air. "And after that I want to play that guy with glasses too, and then Touya's dad—but maybe I'll let you have that one, okay?" His voice gentles. "I know you really want to play him. But I need to play too, okay? My own games. I need to show you my go is real too. I _need_ to."

There are bursts of white light in your vision. Tears collecting at the edges of your eyes. There's something like tears in his eyes too. But his are solid and yours are not. You are fading. Slumped over like this, you can see how your legs have gone translucent. You think you might be dying.

 _Touya Akira,_ says a voice without sound.

You swallow. With a monumental effort, you lift your head and look at where you thought the voice could have come from. There's…a presence behind Shindou. You don't know what it is. It's a gaunt, deathly thing. White and cold, like you. You think it knows how you feel. Maybe that's why you can see it now. It bows its head sadly in greeting.

"Help…" You don't know who you're talking to, but it's not Shindou anymore.

Distantly, you hear another voice calling your name. A voice from below. Your mother.

"Akira? Why is it so cold up here?" Footsteps, muffled, heading upstairs. "Akira?" A knock on the door. "I didn't know he had a lock."

"He doesn't," says another voice. Another parent.

"So noisy," says Shindou.

You can hear fear in the voices outside. "He couldn't have just jammed a chair behind it. The knob won't turn."

"Akira! Let us in!"

Shindou is staring at the door. You are staring at the thing behind Shindou. It opens its mouth and speaks a silent command, as if to say, now, now, you must act now.

"Be quiet," says Shindou with an irritated flick of his finger. The yelling and pounding behind the door suddenly cease. There's a thump, like a body has fallen to the ground. _That's bad_ , you think vaguely.

There is no strength left in you. You can't help the people behind the door. But the ghost behind Shindou nods, and you feel a little warmth seep into you. The ghost fades a little. You see your own hand turn a little more solid. You inch your fingers forward and it's agony, but look, there's the wood grain of the goban shining through your half-faded skin. You breathe. The smell of kaya wood surrounds you, invigorates you. You are alive. You lean forward, arms outstretched, reaching across the goban until you are close enough to cup your hands around Shindou's face. His skin feels so warm against your icy fingers.

Shindou's eyes, those unearthly grey eyes, snap onto your face.

 _I'm sorry._ You mouth the words soundlessly because you cannot speak. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

Shindou opens his mouth to reply. There are still tear tracks on his cheeks. You can feel the salt against your fingers. You rub gently. You don't have strength for much else.

The ghost behind Shindou nods again.

"I'm sorry," you say with your real voice.

"Touya," Shindou tries to say. But when he speaks your name, a ball of white light, a will-o'-the-wisp overwarm with life, drifts from his lips. Now the ball of light pulses lightly, silently. It floats into your own mouth, down into your lungs, gentle as a kiss.

It's like a dam bursting. Blood gushes hot through your veins. Your heart thumps audibly once, twice. You gasp at the feeling of life returning to your fingers, burning too hot now against Shindou's cooling skin. Your hands fly to your throat. For a moment all you can do is sit there, panting with relief.

But Shindou coughs harshly. He covers his mouth with a hand and it comes away stained with blood. "Touya," he says again. "Why did it get so cold? There's something wrong with your house."

Wordlessly, heart aching, you watch that round, boyish face scrunch up in confusion.

"Why is there blood here?" He's not looking at you. He can't seem to stop staring at his hand. "I remember seeing bloodstains. But it wasn't _my_ blood. I was… I was with Akari. There was a goban. It wasn't my blood."

He looks to his left. His bloodstained hand rises, grasping at the air between him and his ghost, like a child reaching for its parents.

"Sai?" he says.

You can't bear to watch. You can't bear to look away. It will be frozen in your mind, this portrait of a boy who could have been.

The portrait starts to fade.

Shindou is slumped forward in utter dejection. You can barely see him now. You can't see the ghost behind him at all. Behind you, you think you hear movement behind the bedroom door. You sense the imaginary lock click open.

"Akira!" your mother cries out, rushing into the room. Your father stands at the door, staring at the spot where Shindou's ghost should be.

"Who are you?" he says.

"Touya," Shindou whispers one last time.

Your father steps into the room just as Shindou disappears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

You've always thought spring too cold a time for new beginnings.

Kaio is decked out in bright colors, at least for today. The students—the ones who care—are gamely calling out enticements to come join this club or that. It's busy and cheerful and completely at odds with the grey sky, which is pale and flat. The cherry blossoms are pale and flat too.

A winter-like wind howls, blowing through your heavy coat like it isn't there. You shiver. Students mill around you, chatting and snapping photos and doing all sorts of things you don't know how to do. You weave your way through them. You feel insubstantial, weightless. It's a familiar feeling. The memory of it makes you shiver more than the actual cold does.

"Come join the go club!"

A cheerful round face, framed by messy hair and spectacles, pops up in front of you as if from nowhere. "You're a first year, right?" says the boy. "We have the largest go club in our district, and the second largest in Tokyo! You look like a smart guy. Why don't you join?"

You give him one of your best smiles. "Sorry, I can't."

He smiles back, still hopeful. "If you change your mind, we're right here." He gestures at the go club's tidy white table, where the other members lounge around in elegant Kaio fashion. The table boasts a sign-up form, too many trophies to count, and no other decoration whatsoever. "It's a fun club, honest."

You don't answer him. You're not trying to be rude, but you've spotted someone else you need to talk to. There's a girl at the shougi table whose long hair blows wildly around her pale face—that's what caught your eye. You know you've seen her before. She wears a scarf and long heavy coat, like you. She's alone, also like you. The wind dies down and you see her face clearly.

One side is covered in burns.

You didn't pay much attention to her before, when you saw her at Haze. This girl was always at Shindou's side, footsteps slow and face drawn and unhappy. Or rather, Shindou was always at _her_ side.

As you watch, she gives a wan smile to the shougi club member who is trying to woo her, then wanders over to the go table. She gives you a small, knowing glance.

"Interested in the go club?" the boy starts his spiel again with a completely genuine smile. "We're the second-largest go club the prefecture, and we win the district tournament pretty much every year!"

The girl's eyes are wistful. "No thank you," she says. "But I'm a bit interested in go boards. Can you tell me about them?" The girl is pretty, even with half her face reddened with burns, and her voice is high and sweet.

"Gobans?" The boy brightens. "What do you want to know?"

"How much are the most expensive ones worth?"

"Mm, I think the most expensive one the go club has is about twenty thousand yen."

"How about an antique goban? One with history?"

"Ah. To tell you the truth I don't know much about that." The boy's grin turns sheepish. "But if you join the club, I can ask one of the senpai…"

She shakes her head and gives the same answer you did. "Sorry, I can't." As if the words were some sort of signal, she turns to look at you. "Touya-kun, right? What a coincidence."

"Let's go talk somewhere else," you say.

"Maybe you can both join the go club!" the boy yells as the two of you walk away.

* * *

It's quieter by the baseball field. Away from the crowds and the forced cheer, you can breathe freely. You don't say anything as you walk, but once in a while you glance up at the girl, who is a little taller than you. You barely registered those burns the first time you met. Your mind was too consumed by Shindou to notice much else.

"You're probably wondering why I came to Kaio." She speaks without preamble, voice duller than the one she used earlier. "It's far from Haze after all."

You stay silent and let her speak.

"I couldn't stay there anymore," she says simply "Because of…" She gestures at the burns on her face. "Do you know what happened?"

"No, I don't."

"Oh." She bites her bottom lip. "I'm sorry if I'm being rude, but…um…you were so weird that day you came to Haze, Touya-kun. You were yelling as if Hikaru was there, but he was…already dead."

You nod. "How did he die?"

Her eyes fall to her feet. The two of you have wandered over to the outfield; you walk in no particular direction, refreshingly empty and aimless, and try not to look at each other.

"There was a fire at his grandparents' house," she finally says, voice shaking. "Their storehouse actually. It's separate from the main house. I was up there with Hikaru—we were looking around for something, but...something weird happened. Like a wind blew through, so strong it knocked us over. I got up. He didn't. Maybe he hit his head." Her voice cracks but she keeps going. "There was an old kerosene lamp we were using—it fell down too. And there was a fire. I tried, but I wasn't strong enough to drag him out in time." She stops to wipe at her eyes. "So when you came to my school, demanding to see Hikaru, acting like he was _there_ , I didn't understand what you…"

"I don't really understand either," you say, "but Shindou Hikaru walked into my father's go salon a few days before I went to Haze. I played a game with him. I'm the only one who saw him. Do you think I'm crazy?"

She shakes her head, no trace of disbelief in her teary eyes. So she felt a little of what you felt, even if she didn't see it. It's probably for the best she was spared that pain. Yet something in you is a little angry that she didn't have to go through what you did. You nearly died. But then, you suppose, so did she.

"It doesn't make any sense," she says, touching the burns on her face in an unconscious gesture. "But it also explains everything. That wind in the storehouse, that wasn't natural."

"What was in there?" you ask. "What were you looking for?"

She looks away, shame-faced, pretending to stare at some birds flocking above the field. "He was looking for things to sell off. There were a lot of old antiques in the storehouse. I told him it was a bad idea but I still let him…" She wipes at her eyes again. "We weren't careful."

"It wasn't your fault."

Startled, she looks up at you, and you see how light her eyes are, a shade of brown closer to amber. The tears are flowing freely now. "Maybe," she croaks, lovely voice gone unlovely. "Hikaru was looking at an old goban…going on and on about bloodstains for some reason, but there weren't any, I couldn't see any anyway. There was so much old dry wood and paper up there… I couldn't get him down the ladder."

She's rambling. You give her some time to collect herself. But she cries and cries, and doesn't stop. A passing member of the baseball team gives you a disapproving look. It's almost comical.

You take her gloved hand in yours. She stares down at your linked hands as if they're diseased, but eventually her great heaving sobs die down to hiccoughs.

There's nothing beautiful about it. Nothing beautiful about the deep lines of grief on Akari's face. Nothing beautiful about this frigid spring day, cherry blossoms promising a new beginning under the clouded grey sky. Nothing beautiful about your father sitting in the tatami room, playing out the game you showed him over and over and muttering about ghosts. Nothing beautiful about your mother's worried smile, the way Ogata looks at you as if you might break. Nothing new for you to move on to when the old fears still hang, ghostlike, over you and your family and this poor girl, more haunted than you ever were.

"For the longest time I felt like he was right beside me," Akari says when she can finally speak again. She lets go of your hand. "You know how some people are when they lose a limb, they can still feel it? That was me. But now I don't feel him anymore."

"I'm sorry," you say, because it's what you said to Shindou too. "I…I'm sorry I couldn't get him back to you. I was there when he finally…left."

"Really? What happened?"

"It's hard to say." You don't _want_ to say is more like it. "All I know is, something bad would have happened if he stayed."

Akari buries her face in her hands. She can't seem to look at you. "Couldn't you have tried? It wouldn't've been fair maybe, but you could have tried, right?"

"I …" you try to speak, but it's as if Shindou has stolen has your voice all over again. "I'm sorry," you say again uselessly.

You leave her alone, in that gray empty field, and wonder if it was the right choice, letting Shindou go.

* * *

You didn't know what it was you were missing. There was no gaping emptiness in you, nothing obviously wrong with your life. You were happy. Your parents were and still are loving and attentive. Your mother is still beautiful. Your father is still Meijin. He still teaches you go. Everyone is nicer to use than ever, even if most of them don't understand why.

You don't want to scream exactly. You don't know what it is you want. But you do know that you _want_.

You never knew this before.

(Except maybe you did, somewhere inside you. Even before Shindou Hikaru walked through the door of your father's go salon, deep down you knew. The person they thought you were, who everyone thought you were—that was never you. Shindou knew who you were. He knew how to make you fear defeat. He knew how to make you angry. He knew how to steal your breath away. And now that boy is no longer here. Maybe he never was.)

You look up at the April sky and shiver. New beginnings indeed. You preferred the black and white of the go board. Now all you can see is grey. It makes you think of the grey light shining through Shindou's ghost; the grey of Shindou's eyes; the empty space behind him where something else floated, real and unreal all at once.

(Maybe _you_ never were either.)

"Time to go home," you say to the air, as though a ghost is watching over your shoulder. "Goodbye," you say softly. But who you're saying goodbye to, you still don't know.

End

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

This fic was written for tuulentupa's second unofficial blind_go fic challenge.


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